Previously:
Previously: Lucia accepted Matteo’s invitation to the beach, stepping outside the routine that made her life manageable. As the distance between them narrowed, she saw the grief beneath his easy confidence and asked about the part of himself he kept hidden. Matteo began to tell her about the future his body could no longer reach.
New to the Serial? Start Here | Need the previous chapter? Chapter 14: Beneath Stillness
Lucia
We cannot fight against the wind and weather.
~Christina Rossetti
Lucia walked to the shoreline and sat down. When Matteo sat beside her, the slightest movement from him unsettled something under her skin. Her gaze kept drifting back, getting caught in the gold the sun pulled from his hair. Her body leaned toward him while her thoughts scrambled to escape.
Jesus. I need to get away from him. Panic flickered behind her ribs. Sunday would give her separation. Maybe enough to quiet whatever her body decided without her.
He was drawing circles on the wet sand, as though it were the most interesting thing he’d ever created. When he caught her looking at him, he nudged her shoulder. Grinning, she scooped up water and splashed him.
“Oh, that’s how you want to be?” he teased, flicking water at her in response.
She sprang to her feet and ran along the shoreline, her heavy braid bouncing behind her. Each time he got close, she slipped away, laughing as the surf curled around their legs.
When he finally caught her by the waist, his hands settled there lightly, waiting. The water rose to their calves, and she stood still. For one breath, the panic went quiet.
“In?” he asked, taking her hand. “Only if you want to.”
“No.” Her pulse beat hard against the hollow of her throat. One step forward, or back to the blanket. Back to watching from the edge. Still, her voice shaking, she added, “I want to go back.”
“Okay.” His smile didn’t falter as he turned toward their things. “We can go back.”
Her body locked, braced for the pull. She stared at her hand. No pain. Unbruised. Only the space to choose. Her lip quivered as she looked at him.
“Hey.” His hand tightened once, then loosened. “Talk to me.”
“I… I’m so scared.” The world blurred around her. She wasn’t sure she meant the ocean.
“We can stop here.”
She wanted to believe him. But trust was a dangerous indulgence. “I can’t move.”
“Take a breath. With me.” His Castilian lisp, the gentle brush of words against his teeth, gave her something to hold.
“But… I want to.” She breathed with him once, then took a step forward. It was terrifying. She took it anyway.
Matteo led her slowly into the water, pausing after each step until she was ready to take another. She was shaking by the time the water reached her knees, but his smile steadied her next step.
Another wave knocked against her knees. Her legs faltered under the force of the water. She couldn’t think beyond the push and pull of the surf. Her stomach clenched hot and hard. Before she could take another step, an enormous wave rushed toward them.
As a wall of water closed in, a scream ripped out of her. Cold spray hit her face. There was no time to think. Only the rush of water coming for her.
Matteo’s hands caught her at the waist. Her feet left the sand as he lifted her above the breaking wave. One moment the cold water dragged at her lower body, indifferent and merciless; the next, the wave broke beneath her.
His arms remained firm around her waist. When the wave passed, he lowered her. He pushed his hair back, easy in a way her body could not understand. The catalog in her brain lay scattered. The card reminding her that he was a surfer was nowhere to be found.
Her breath splintered. She could feel every place he had touched her. The water receded, but relief did not follow. Shame and the sharp instinct to wrench herself free did not care that he had saved her.
She dug her fingers into his back anyway. His arms tightened around her, and her body only understood the steady certainty of his hold. “You’re safe, baby.”
“Oh my God! Where did that come from?” she shrieked, scanning the water for another surge. Afraid of what she might find in his eyes, she kept her gaze on the water.
He did not let her go. “The surf settles a little further in.”
Further in? Was he serious? “I can’t swim.”
“We won’t go any deeper than my waistline.”
She hesitated. “I’m shorter than you.”
“I swear it.” He kissed his Catherine de Palma medal.
His vow settled somewhere within her that ordinary reassurance could not reach. She relented and whispered, “Okay.”
Still, she yipped as the waterline rose, clinging to his body like a barnacle.
“Don’t forget to breathe.” His arm was firm around her waist.
“How much more?” Each wave made the next step harder. Why am I putting myself through this? She still would not look at him, even as she tightened her grip.
“No further,” he said.
Past the breaker zone, the water became gentle, almost soothing. Her breathing eased. Wait. Did he call her baby? Again?
“Would you ever want to sit on the surfboard? Right about here.”
A jolt of panic made her breath hitch, and she lost her train of thought. “Now?”
“No.” His smile remained soft. “Maybe next time, or the time after that.”
Her pulse still racing, she nodded, fear agreeing before reason arrived. The wave still pulled at the inside of her skull.
He shifted the conversation to the nature reserve above the bluffs, describing short walks and harder hikes that unveiled something special about the landscape. As he spoke about Razor Point Trail, she pictured herself next to him: cold air, sandstone cliffs, and native flora.
“I want to ask you something.” He tilted his head, deliberate and measured. “You can refuse.”
“Umm… I guess so, but me first.” Every defense she had stepped forward. “Why didn’t you take the spot at the ballet school?”
A shadow crossed his face and was gone before she could name it. Not anger. Something knotted and hidden. She opened her mouth to tell him he didn’t have to answer. But it was too late.
“I have an autoimmune condition.” His tone was even. Almost formal. “The schedule requires certainty.” His breath rasped through his chest. “They said it would be irresponsible. To take a place I couldn’t keep.”
The bitterness threaded through his words and stayed there. She swallowed hard. Her voice faltered, but once again the question had left her mouth before she could pull it back. “Who convinced you to let it go?”
Matteo looked away. When he turned back, his eyes had narrowed into something cold. He moved slowly, showing her the coastline. Bluffs. Sky. Ocean. “You would’ve taken it?”
“Someone else might deserve my scholarship more than me.” She almost stopped. Silence was always easier. The pull did not win. “But I got my scholarship through effort, luck, destiny, or whatever else brought it to me. It’s mine. If I don’t graduate because I get sick or die, at least I tried to take what I wanted.”
He said nothing. But his gaze fixed on her face. His restraint pulled at her. No sharp edge turned against her. She let one guarded part of herself settle by a fraction, but the space his words left still pressed. The waves rose and fell around them, indifferent, for now.
Author’s note
I had a difficult time writing this chapter because Matteo’s loss does not require an obvious villain. When he explains why he gave up his place at ballet school, he says, “They said it would be irresponsible. To take a place I couldn’t keep.”
“Irresponsible” is a useful word when a family wants a child to surrender a future without admitting they took it from him. The word carries the authority of adult judgment while passing as concern. That is how it gets past the guards. Once Matteo accepts it, he begins reciting his family’s verdict as self-knowledge.
His autoimmune condition creates genuine uncertainty. Ballet school would demand a schedule his body might not sustain. His family treats that uncertainty as disqualification, then positions a healthier dancer as the rightful claimant. Matteo learns to view accepting an opportunity he earned as taking something from someone with a more dependable body. His illness becomes evidence against his desire.
Lucia recognizes this logic in a more brutal form. Abuela pressures her to leave school and work full-time. Bruno beats her and insists that school will not change who she is. Education could loosen their control over her, but Lucia attends anyway, even though defiance makes her home more dangerous. She has already learned how easily family authority can borrow the language of duty.
Lucia has confronted her family’s control. Matteo still describes their decision as though he reached it himself. She recognizes a surrender he cannot yet name because his family gave it the manners of love.
That is why Lucia answers him with her scholarship. She has wondered whether someone else deserves the opportunity more, but she refuses to surrender it in advance. “It’s mine. If I don’t graduate because I get sick or die, at least I tried to take what I wanted.”
Her answer makes room for illness, failure, and death. None of those possibilities gives someone else the right to stop her before her body does.
Whether the bars are made of gold or iron, a cage is still a cage. The harder question is how long it takes to recognize one when the people holding the key have taught you to defend it.
What helps you trust someone more, reassurance, patience, or seeing them respect your decision without taking it personally?
Start from the Beginning
Subscribe to receive new chapters by email every other Saturday.
All parts of Beneath the Weight of Water and the first part of Inherited Shame are free for everyone.
Paid subscribers receive early chapter access, bonus scenes, and The Grumpy Writer.
Work arrives by email. No ads. No noise.
Copyright © 2026 Angelica Thorne
For permission requests, contact angelicathorne@icloud.com.